


Boiling Over

by keyboardclicks



Category: Layton Brothers: Mystery Room, Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: Family Feels, Family Fluff, Gen, Temper Tantrums
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-27
Updated: 2015-07-27
Packaged: 2018-04-11 11:04:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4433117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keyboardclicks/pseuds/keyboardclicks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hershel Layton never knew so much anger could be packed into one small boy, but Alfendi taught him better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Boiling Over

            Generally, Alfendi was a very quiet boy; he would sit quietly and read, or perhaps draw and play with toys depending on his mood.  He would speak when spoken to, answer questions and laugh at jokes just like any normal child his age.  Sometimes Flora would play pretend with him, as would Luke should the occasion strike that he visited, and they would have quite a bit of fun together. However when young Alfendi Layton was angry or upset everyone within earshot would know because he could throw the most ferocious, noisy temper-tantrums his father had ever witnessed.

            Tonight’s was about dinner.

            “I DON’T WANT TO EAT IT!” the young boy screeched.  “IT’S GROSS!  I DON’T WANT IT!  YOU CAN’T MAKE ME!”

            Trying to ignore the screaming child, Hershel Layton lifted a bite of his dinner to his mouth and ate it.  He wasn’t sure what Alfendi was so upset about; the meal was quite delicious. Both he and Flora supposed, however, that they could not account for the mind of a young child.

            Especially not of this young child.

            From down the hall Alfendi continued to scream and whine and cry, and he could even be heard kicking his bedroom door a couple of times, but never opening it.

            “Professor…” Flora sighed, looking up at him from across the table and flinching from another loud bang that came from down the hall.  “Isn’t there something we can do?”

            “The best thing to do is to let him tire himself out,” Hershel replied calmly. “Once he does that, I’m sure he’ll come and eat dinner, and I can have a talk with him.”

            “If you’re sure…” Her fork pushed aside the vegetables on her plate. “I hope he doesn’t break anything.”

            “If he does, it will only be his own things, I’m sure he’s learned from the last time what impact his destruction can have.”  The last time Alfendi had broken something during a tantrum it had been his bedroom window, having thrown a toy truck through it and onto the sidewalk below, breaking that as well.  Until the window was fixed he’d had to deal with a noisy plastic sheet over the hole, and bugs making their way inside.  Hershel was confident he wouldn’t be throwing anything else through that any time soon. Or, at least, he hoped he wouldn’t.

            The Professor and Flora ate and chatted amicably, both doing their best to ignore the screaming and shouting coming from the boy’s room. Luckily the neighbors had become accustomed to Alfendi’s tantrums and no longer came to see what was going on or called the police to report a problem.  The first time a constable had shown up at the door Hershel was mortified, and had to explain about Alfendi’s anger problems with the boy standing sheepishly behind him. 

            “This is one of the longest he’s had in a while…” Flora mused. “Did he really not want to eat my cooking…? I know it wasn’t very good last time but I’m getting better…”

            “Yes, you are,” Hershel agreed.  “In fact this is quite delicious.  I’m sure Alfendi would agree if he simply tasted some, but you know how stubborn the boy can be. Perhaps I should go talk to him; he seems to be calming down.”  The yelling, at least, had stopped, but Alfendi’s crying could still be heard. If that was all he was doing, Hershel was sure he could handle it.  So he rose from his seat, asking Flora to kindly clear the dirty dishes and plate some food for Alfendi so he could eat dinner once he came out. Then he made his way to his son’s room and knocked gently on the door.

            “Alfendi, may I come in?”

            A gentle sniffle, then a quiet, “S-sure…”

            The door creaked when it opened – Hershel made a mental note to oil the hinges when he got the chance – and revealed Alfendi laying sideways atop the covers of his bed, eyes puffy red and nose runny.  His gaze turned towards his father as he entered, then quickly turned away so as to wipe the tears from his reddened cheeks without being seen. The door clicked shut and Hershel sat on the corner of his son’s bed, waiting to be faced again. He looked around the room, observing a toppled-over chair, emptied toy box, and toys in several (hopefully fixable) pieces, but no dents in the walls or permanent damage to the room.

            Alfendi sniffled from atop the covers, sometimes still hiccupping with his sobs as he tried to catch his breath.  Hershel waited patiently, but minutes passed and Alfendi still did not look up, so the Professor decided he would need to initiate the conversation. He reached a hand forward and rubbed his son’s shoulder, asking, “Feeling any better?”

            Alfendi nodded, but still did not look.  “Y-yeah… a little.”  He sniffled and wiped his eyes again on the sleeve of his shirt.  “Head hurts…”

            “Yes, well, that does seem to happen once you’ve cried yourself down from a tantrum.”

            Were his face not red with tears, Alfendi may have blushed. He looked towards his father with watery eyes and a trembling lip, which was returned only with a kind smile. His father always did that… returning his anger with kindness, his rage with compassion, and his hate with love. It confused him, and almost made him even angrier as a result… but he could never _really_ be mad at his father, not when he wasn’t kicking and screaming at whatever ridiculous thing had set him off that day.

            “Do you think you’d like to come and eat dinner now, Alfendi? Flora prepared a plate for you, and it’s still hot.  It’s a very delicious meal, and if you eat it we can all have ice cream later tonight. I’m sure you’d like that.”

            Alfendi nodded, then suddenly sat up and clung to his father’s side, face buried into his shirt.  Hershel wrapped an arm around his small body, rubbing his back and smiling.

            “ ’m sorry…” Alfendi murmured.  “ ‘m sorry I got so a-angry…  I didn’t mean to…”

            Of course he didn’t, he never did.  For all the anger he had built up, Alfendi was a good, sweet boy. He never really meant to make his father angry, or his sister.  The temper tantrums came to him like a storm and he was as powerless against them as anyone else.  They came, destroyed, and left a tired little boy in their wake, leaving him to clean up the mess as best he could and wait until it returned.

            “I know you didn’t, my boy,” smiled the Professor.  “You should really apologize to Flora, though; after all she is the one who cooked the dinner you were so quick to dismiss. I’m sure she would appreciate it.”

            Alfendi groaned, gripping to his father’s shirt tighter and momentarily refusing to move.  When the man rose from the bed and began to make his way to the kitchen, however, he followed behind timidly, again wiping the tears that stained his cheeks. 

            Flora was still in the kitchen, tidying up the dirty dishes at the sink. With his father’s encouragement, Alfendi slid his stocking feet across the tile and wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, pressing his face into the young woman’s back.

            “Alfendi?” She blinked and strained her neck to look at him.

            “ ‘m sorry I said it was gross…” the boy mumbled into her dress. “I’ll eat it…  I didn’t mean to make you upset.”

            Flora pulled her brother’s arms from her, turning around and letting him hug her from the front.  She returned the gesture, ruffling his hair affectionately and letting him keep his face hidden.

            “It’s alright, Alfendi, I forgive you.  I know that last time I made dinner you…” - putting it lightly - “…got an upset stomach… but Father helped me make it this time, and it’s very good. I’m glad you’re going to try it.”

            His stomach growled in response, and Flora’s laugh followed. “Plus, it sounds like you’re hungry! Let’s get some food in that tummy.”

            Alfendi nodded and rushed to the dinner table and the plate of food at his seat. Even with the encouragement of his father, the boy was nervous to keep his promise and hesitated before taking his first bite.  Once he did, though, and found the food was delicious, his plate was clean in mere moments, and he even asked for seconds.

            “Throwing a tantrum makes you hungry, huh Alfendi?” Flora giggled. He didn’t reply, taking bite after bite of his dinner until his father reminded him to slow down and actually chew his food. 

When all was said and done he’d eaten two full plates of food and was left dozing on the living room sofa. Flora sat by his feet and pet his hair, only making the boy sleepier as he tried his hardest and failed not to doze off. 

            “I suppose we’ll have to wait on the ice-cream,” Flora chuckled, looking to the Professor. “He’d be very cross if we ate any without him.”

            “Yes,” he agreed from his chair. “Perhaps he’ll sleep through the night and we’ll have to wait until tomorrow.”

            That made the sleeping boy jump.

            “I-I’m up! I’m up!  We can have ice-cream!”

            Flora laughed. “Were you pretending to be asleep, Alfendi?”

            “N-no!” he blushed, puffing his cheeks out in defiance.  “I just get sleepy when you pet my hair like that…”

            By this point Hershel was back in the kitchen, retrieving the three bowls of ice cream that Alfendi so badly wanted, but he distinctly heard Flora telling the boy how adorable she found him, and the boy in turn insisting that he was nothing of the sort. He chuckled and began scooping the ice cream out of the carton, listening to the two of them talking – it seemed Flora was giving him a puzzle to solve, one about dividing scoops of ice cream between bowls or something of the like.  Hershel was sure he would be able to solve it; he was a very intelligent boy and loved to challenge himself.

            “Father, I solved Flora’s puzzle without any hints!” Alfendi exclaimed when his father returned. He then added, “It was a 15 picarat one, too!”

            “Wonderful job, Alfendi; I bet you’ll be on to 20 picarat puzzles in no time if you keep it up.” He handed them each a bowl of ice cream and settled back into his chair.  “Would you like to try another one?”

            “Yes!” Said with a mouthful of his treat.

            “Haha, very well. Let’s see…”

            It was an evening like many prior; the storm had passed and left some damage in its wake, but nothing that could not be fixed.  Alfendi was solving puzzles and laughing all the way until bedtime, when his eyes drooped and he had to be helped into his pajamas.  He was tucked in, given his favorite stuffed bear – one Uncle Luke had brought him for his last birthday – and left to rest.  Tomorrow was another day, and even with a storm on the horizon, Hershel was optimistic about how they would fare.


End file.
